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As I stood with my elbow on the mantel shelf. 

(See Page 18 ) 




FINDING 

THE RIGHT PATH 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


BY 

MARY CHAPMAN BENNETT 
1 ? 


SAULSBURY PUBLISHING COMPANY 

BALTIMORE, MD. 



Copyright, 1919, 

By Mary Chapman Bennett 



litlL 28 1919 


J. F. TAPLEY CO. 
New York 

©CI.A529376 


I 


DEDICATED 


the memory of those who gave to me 
Heritage 
of a 

Happy Home Life 
MY FATHER and MOTHER 

AND 

MY GRANDPARENTS 


1 


CONTENTS 


PASE 

Finding the Right Path 9 

The Hand of Love 31 


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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


As I stood with my elbow on the 

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FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


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FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


Priscilla was crocheting an afghan out of some 
bright colored yarns ; a big basket, which she had 
before her marriage, perched on a taboret by her 
side, was full of brilliant hued balls. 

I was looking over a pile of magazines for Phil- 
lip, Jr. 

Now Phillip was our youngest grandson, a bright 
boy of nine summers, and uniquely practical. His 
father thought he would either die young, or become 
a very famous man. While I, being his grandfather 
and the man for whom he was named, desired for 
him neither long life nor fame, but hoped rather 
that his days, long or short as they might prove to 
be, should be given up to duty, whatever that, for 
him, might be. He had begun a scrap book of pic- 
tures, portraits of men and women, towns, and 
whatever was of a geographical or scientific nature. 
It was truly the beginnings of a rare collection, and 
my share was to save all such in my own magazines. 

So we were sitting in our delightful living-room, 
while the crackle of a log fire made music in our 
ears. When a man has reached the mature age of 
eighty-two, he likes the cheer of a grate fire, even 
9 


10 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


though steam heat is more sanitary. I had been 
thinking how strange it was that all the dear old 
things of our boyhood were considered unsanitary, 
when Priscilla said, in her calm but emphatic way, 

hate that type of story.” 

I glanced down at the pile on the floor, while she 
continued, ‘‘The typical American man is neither a 
brute nor a prig and the women are not all fools. 
The mean, contemptible folks are not so numerous as 
are the good souls, after all, and this world is a 
beautiful place in which to dwell.” 

Now Priscilla had a hobby, and having ridden the 
horse for over eighty years, you can imagine it was a 
full-fledged one — the hobby of thinking good, and 
not evil, could be brought out of the human soul, if 
only the right chord could be touched. Old fash- 
ioned.^ Well, yes, but Priscilla was eighty, and while 
some of her ideas were called somewhat old fash- 
ioned, they were like the rare old laces she kept in 
her chest, full of fragrance, beauty, and of priceless 
worth. 

“I should just like to write a story myself to prove 
that truth and faith and love are still a part of the 
marriage vow, and that in every union they are there, 
if the two will only hunt for them,” and Priscilla’s 
voice was low from the very intensity of her feeling. 

I sat thinking of the past. 

“Phillip,” Priscilla said, after a pause, “couldn’t 
you write a story to prove there are millions of peo- 
ple in this dear land of ours who have found a better 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


11 


way to interpret the marriage tie than through the 
channels of divorce, separation, or unhappiness?” 

^^You know, dear, stories are not quite in my line,” 
I replied, as I removed my glasses, placing them 
carefully between the pages of the magazine. A 
man treats his eyes very tenderly, especially his arti- 
ficial ones. 

‘‘I only know one story, dear, which would be 
worth the telling,” and I looked across the table at 
the woman who, although eighty, was still the most 
beautiful woman in all the world. 

A faint color came into her cheeks, for even after 
all these years, Priscilla cannot get used to the ad- 
miration in my eyes. 

Then she turned to me with a quick gesture, ‘Thil- 
lip, teU our story, for it is far more typical of our 
American home-life than many of the tales our grand- 
children are learning to like. While science may be 
more familiar to your pen than a fanciful sketch, I 
know you can tell it so as to be understood, and as 
your word has come to be taken as final in science, 
it would therefore carry weight in a story of love.” 

‘‘But, Priscilla, you surely do not desire me to re- 
veal my name, do you?” and I shuddered, for our 
story was an exquisite love poem, too sacred for the 
eyes of the world to read. 

“Yes, dear, because Katherine is in danger,” and 
the beautiful woman, who could ride a hobby-horse 
from early morn till late at night and show no fa- 
tigue, crept into my arms for the tenderness, sym- 


12 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


pathy and strength which, for long years, have never 
been denied her. 

And this is why an old man of eighty-two starts 
out to write the story of his love — and therefore his 
life. 

At nineteen, I was in my third year at Yale, when 
the sudden death of my father made me aware of our 
financial condition. Father was a physician, and 
while he had a large practice, there had been no 
chance to make a fortune. Since my mother’s death, 
some years before, the management of our home had 
been in the hands of a widowed cousin. A few days 
after my father was buried, she became a helpless in- 
valid. So there we were: a boy of nineteen, a girl 
of twelve, and a woman too ill to leave her bed, and 
only a few thousand to carry us along. I, there- 
fore, rented our large house to a family who would 
care for Cousin Jane; sold most of our belongings; 
placed Katie in a boarding academy not far aw^ay, 
and went to work. 

The story of the next twenty years was one of 
struggle, though not unlike that of many another 
youth. Between the struggle to secure a living and 
the desire to fit myself for something worth while, the 
years fled as in a dream. 

Meanwhile Cousin Jane died and the old home 
passed into other hands. Katie had grown to be a 
very pretty woman and had become an instructor in 
the academy where she went as a pupil. 

I had burned the candle at both ends and gained a 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


13 


diploma from Yale as a physician. For some time 
I had been interested in the expansion of our coun- 
try, and soon after I had entered my thirties I had 
become what would now be called an expert engi- 
neer. Therefore by the time I was forty I was liv- 
ing in a large city, large for those days, I mean; 
had a small medical practice ; was writing articles for 
the magazines on science and engineering, and acting 
as chief engineer for railroad surveys. 

It was about this time that I thought seriously of 
marriage. 

It may have been my sister’s invitation which put 
the idea in my head ; but, at any rate, the thought of 
a home, with a wife for a daily companion, and, may- 
hap, little babes to make music for me after a day 
of hard work, became a most delightful one and the 
picture of home happiness very alluring. 

So in June, when I went up to the academic town 
to be present at my sister’s wedding, I was all ready 
to fall in love. 

Among the guests was Priscilla Whitman, very 
beautiful, full of charm and laughter, a girl whom 
the years would never change. 

Of course I fell in love at once. I saw her con- 
stantly for two weeks and, before I left, gained her 
promise to become my bride on my fortieth birth- 
day, which was late in August. 

The course of true love ought to run smoothly 
but, as a general thing, it doesn’t, at least not with- 
out some effort. 


14 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


I had a large circle of friends who welcomed with 
great kindness my charming wife. We lived com- 
fortably for those days and I suppose were as happy 
as we deserved to be. When our little Rose was 
nearly nine years old, I took a large party to survey 
the route of a railroad in the far West. 

It had been invariably my habit, when away from 
home, to write to Priscilla every week, and she always 
replied. On this particular occasion I was to be 
gone several months. 

The West in the seventies was not what it is to- 
day, and those who traveled had to put up with many 
inconveniences. For many weeks I was stationed 
in a small town in the now Middle West. Then it 
was a dreary enough spot and a man, away from the 
life of a large Eastern city, would find the days lone- 
some indeed. 

I had, as my assistant in the office, a young man 
of keen mind and great versatility. He lived with 
his mother and sister on the outskirts of the town, 
and, as the hotel was a most forlorn place, I easily 
slipped into the habit of spending my evenings there. 
The house itself was little more than a one-room cab- 
in with sleeping rooms above. The boy, Karl, was 
a most engaging youth, and when not engaged with 
my field force, it was a pleasure to teach him out of 
my wide experience. 

And so the weeks sped on ; days full of outdoor life, 
and the evenings spent in the tiny home on the out- 
skirts of the town. The mother and daughter busy 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


15 


with their sewing, and Karl and I talking in terms of 
mathematics and problems of science. 

Sometimes I told stories of my early struggles, or 
of my trips through the vast unknown regions of 
valley or mountain. 

It was on the night when I related the story of 
my being taken up for dead, after having fallen over 
a precipice when searching for a lost comrade, that 
I saw on the girl’s face a peculiar light. I was 
thrilled and yet startled. 

I remember it was on Saturday night, and every 
Sunday for many weeks I had been invited to join 
them for the midday meal. It happened to be my 
birthday and also my wedding day, and I made some 
remark about the fact, and also feelingly expressed 
my appreciation of their great kindness to a lonely 
man. 

A sudden silence fell upon us and the air became 
chilled. 

When I arose to leave, I shook hands, as usual, 
with the mother, and then turning to the younger 
woman, found both of her hands were occupied in 
untangling a knot from her thread. She said good 
night in quiet, even tones, but made no effort to free 
her hands. 

As I galloped to my forlorn hotel room, I remem- 
bered that the invitation to the morrow’s dinner had 
not been given me. 

The sun was flooding the room that Sunday morn- 
ing in August, when I was awakened by a thunder- 


16 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


ing rap on my door. Sitting up in bed, I gave the 
customary “Come !” when Karl plunged into the room 
exclaiming : 

“What in thunder did you mean by passing your- 
self off for a single man?” — and then, throwing him- 
self across the foot of the bed, he sobbed out, “I 
loved you so and you have spoiled — ” 

I tried to explain and then paused. What was 
there to explain? Can a man undo a thoughtless, 
unkind act by explanation? Is there, in fact, any 
explanation for a lack of courtesy or tenderness 
toward those weaker than one’s self? 

I let the boy sob on while I placed my hand on his 
head. I felt guilty, though I had intended no wrong. 
I was glad my work was nearly finished. 

In the days that followed, though Karl and I 
worked side by side, the delightful comradeship was 
all gone and he accepted from me only such di- 
rections as it was absolutely essential he must 
receive. 

I relate this incident of my early married life to 
show how easily we slip into those ways which bring 
pain and misery and leave lasting scars- — also, be- 
cause it was the turning point in my own life. 

On my return home, I found my wife had gone to 
visit friends in another city and our little girl was 
with her. My experience in the West had left me 
sore and weak and I needed something, I knew not 
what. 

Home? Was this place a home? The home that 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


17 


I had dreamed of? I sat by the grate fire and 
smoked my pipe and studied the problem far into 
the night. My wife, whom I had promised to love, 
honor, and cherish — where was she? And my child, 
I hardly knew. And I was here by the dying embers 
of my fire — alone, bruised and hurt, with no hand 
ready to help me to my feet and no voice to speak 
words of love and cheer. 

Each day I took up my various tasks and each 
evening sat down with my pipe before the blazing 
logs, for the nights were chilly. There I spent the 
hours in thought till my heart was so homesick that 
I sought refuge in slumber. 

At last one day there was an air of bustle about 
the house when I returned to supper, and I found 
that Priscilla and our child had come home unex- 
pectedly in the afternoon. 

I did not realize how far apart we had drifted 
until we greeted each other. At supper my wife 
chatted about this or that, asked a few questions 
about my trip, but in no special way did she con- 
cern herself about my welfare, nor was I at all in- 
terested in her visit, nor the things about which she 
was speaking. 

I was conscious only of a dull pain in head or 
heart, I knew not which. I took my pipe and sat 
before the fire as I had done every night since my 
return from my western trip. I heard the patter of 
feet above my head and a child’s laugh. 

Suddenly, from somewhere out of the blackness of 


18 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


mj despair, light came to me. I emptied my pipe 
and placed it carefully on the shelf. I raised the 
shade and looked out of the window. The night was 
chilly, but a brilliant light streamed down from the 
heavens, for the stars were shining. As I looked, 
peace came to me for the first time in weeks and my 
resolve grew strong. 

With a firm step I passed into the hall and said in 
a clear voice, ‘‘Priscilla 

“Yes, Phillip,” came in a surprised tone from the 
far side of the room above. 

“When you are. at liberty, I should like to speak 
with you in the sitting-room,” I said, in quiet tones. 

“Why, of course,” came in a much more surprised 
tone. “I will be down in ten minutes,” she added. 

It was the first time since our marriage that I had 
ever requested an interview and I am inclined to 
think that this request came to her as a command. 
At any rate, when she entered the room she had an 
aggrieved air which would have been amusing were I 
not so serious. 

“Is it anything special.?” she politely asked, as 
she seated herself near the table. 

As I stood with my elbow on the mantel-shelf, I 
gravely replied, “Yes, Priscilla. Are you aware that 
we are strangers to each other.?” 

“Strangers.?” she echoed, in a puzzled tone. “I 
don’t think I catch your meaning.” 

“What I mean is this: you and I have been mar- 
ried for ten years and yet we are as strangers to each 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


19 


other. You go your way and I go mine and we 
have no real interest each in the other. I am gone 
from home for many weeks. I return to find that 
you, knowing the time of my home-coming, have gone 
away for a visit. So I conclude that my presence 
in the house does not mean anything special to you. 
Does it.^ Why did you marry me, Priscilla 

‘Why, I am sure that I do not understand you, 
Phillip. Are you ill, or — anything?” and the puz- 
zled tone in which she began gave place to an anx- 
ious dread, and she arose from her chair and shrank 
back, as though I had in some way contracted a 
loathsome malady. Fear, of she knew not what, 
shone in her eyes and a great pity for her crept into 
my heart. 

“No, Priscilla, I am not ill,” I gently said. “Please 
be seated, as I wish to talk with you about our prob- 
lem, for it is yours as well as mine and it concerns 
also the future of our child.” 

She again took the easy-chair near the table but 
did not speak. I think she was truly fearful lest 
some insane mania had taken possession of me and it 
was safest to listen in silence. 

“Priscilla, will you kindly be patient with me as, 
together, we look back over the past ten years? We 
have made a mistake somewhere. We started out as 
lovers and we have become strangers. Will you re- 
trace with me those years?” 

A nod of patient resignation came from the quiet 
figure in the low rocking-chair. 


20 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


' Then in quiet tones I began to speak. ^‘At the 
time I attended my sister’s wedding I wanted to fall 
in love. My dream of a home with my wife as Queen 
and little ones around me, I desired to come true. I 
met you. In every way you seemed to be the woman 
of my dreams. Those weeks of courtship and the 
days of our early married life were all a part of a 
beautiful dream come true. 

‘T cannot tell just where we began to drift apart. 
I suppose it all came easily, so easily at first that we 
never noticed. I had my work and was away a good 
deal and you naturally found some way to amuse 
yourself. And now here we are to-day, by the law 
of the land man and wife, and yet, in truths stran- 
gers, so far apart have we grown. You, T know, 
have been loyal to me in thought, word, and deed, as 
I have been faithful to you.” 

‘‘But, Phillip,” interrupted my wife, “I don’t see 
how things can be changed. You have your life to 
live, and I have done nothing of which I am ashamed. 
We never quarrel and every one else lives just the 
same. You cannot expect people who have been 
married ten years to act as silly as when they were 
first married. I never thought there was anything 
out of the usual in our marriage and I don’t believe 
there is. You are tired out with your trip,” and 
Priscilla looked compassionately at me and a moth- 
erly pity filled her large brown eyes. 

“I don’t know as I can explain my feeling,” I said, 
in a weary tone. “But it seems to me as though 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


21 


marriage is something more than what we have made 
out of it. It means more comradeship, more human 
interest, more oneness, more love,” and for the mo- 
ment the vision of a cabin on the outskirts of a fron- 
tier town came unbidden before my eyes and a wo- 
man’s glowing face intervened between me and the 
face of my wife. 

I went to the window and looked out into the star- 
lit night. I knew it was not the woman, but the 
beautiful life in the home of which I had been a part 
for so many weeks, that had caused my unrest. The 
truth came to me out of the silence and I grew strong 
in my resolve to find the path to a brighter and 
richer home life. 

I again turned to my wife and said gently, ^Tris- 
cilla, I came across the other night when sitting here 
alone, a little book which we ought to read together.” 

Her face expressed relief at my change of tone and 
theme and she turned eagerly toward me. I drew a 
chair near and holding the book where she also could 
read, I pointed to the opening lines of the marriage 
service. 

A look of amazement passed quickly over her face, 
and as quickly vanished, as I said in low tones : 

‘^Let us read this again, Priscilla, aloud and in 
concert.” 

So, sitting side by side, with the book open be- 
tween us, we read again those words which are so 
easily said and many a time as easily forgotten. 

For a few moments neither of us spoke. Then 


22 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


Priscilla said, in tones which slightly trembled, 
think I am beginning to understand you, Phillip. 
You fear that we have obeyed the letter of the law 
and have forgotten its deeper meaning? But how 
can we help it now?” 

I placed the book carefully away among the other 
books on the shelf before I answered. Priscilla had 
arisen and was standing near the fire when I turned 
to take up my old position by the corner of the 
mantel. 

‘T wish to try and love you again, Priscilla,” I 
said gently. “I loved you once, but for years my 
affection must have lain dormant. I must have also 
your love in return. May I try to win your love, 
Priscilla?” 

For a full moment she did not answer. Then she 
turned frankly to me and for the first time in years 
her heart looked out of her brown eyes, searching for 
• the truth in mine. 

^^Yes, Priscilla, I sincerely desire a more perfect 
home life with you. There is a better way out of 
our mistake than by continuing in it. I want to win 
your love and this time I shall not be content with 
anything less than your whole heart,” and again the 
cabin on the outskirts of the town rose up before me. 
‘‘Perhaps I should never have come to realize our 
estrangement quite so vividly, were it not for a little 
home I was permitted to visit while on my recent trip. 
The young man who assisted me in my office invited 
me, because of the loneliness of my life in the hotel. 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


23 


to spend the evenings in his home. It was only a 
tiny cabin, yet, as we sat there evening after eve- 
ning working out the problems of the new road and 
I often teaching him out of my wider knowledge, the 
mother and sister sewing in the same room, there was 
such an atmosphere of perfect love and trust and 
homeness that I longed for the same thing here with 
you. I was often a guest at the Sunday dinner, and 
the frank interchange of thought delighted me and 
made me keenly aware that you and I were missing, 
perhaps, the best in life. Since my return home I 
have become convinced that the way to find that best 
home life is to rekindle our love. The fire has burned 
low, it is true, but it cannot be entirely dead.” 

Priscilla, usually so calm and reposeful, at the 
same time very vivacious, began to pace the floor 
after I ceased speaking. At length she paused near 
the table, resting one hand — I had really forgotten 
how beautiful her hands were — upon the back of her 
low chair. 

^‘Phillip,” she said, raising her wonderful eyes to 
mine, ^This new phase of our life has come to me for 
the first time. I — I don’t understand everything 
yet. I am very tired to-night from my trip, and I 
beg that you will excuse me now.” 

And then Priscilla did a very brave and beautiful 
deed. She came toward me with outstretched hands 
and said, as I took them in mine : 

don’t quite know, Phillip, how I can help you in 
this matter, but I at least will not place any stone in 


24 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


your path. And if, unconsciously, I am hurting you 
in any way please speak frankly to me, for I also" 
wish the old days back again. Now good night, 
Phillip ; try and sleep.” 

As I watched her slowly mount the staircase, she 
turned at the top and said again, ‘‘Good night, Phil- 
lip,” and the feeling grew strong in my heart that I 
was acting wisely in attempting to find the right 
path. 

And then began a new era. I was occupied with 
my business cares all day, yet underneath I had an 
unconscious life which lent more color and zest to 
my work. Somehow I was glad of my work and the 
money and success it was bringing, because it was 
for Priscilla. At dinner and supper I tried to tell 
my wife of the funny little happenings of the day 
over which we had many a hearty laugh. 

And she responded with the daily news in her world 
until I began to enjoy the recital of her doings in 
those hours that we spent apart. 

In the evenings we read together, or I talked over 
my plans. Sometimes we went out, or friends came 
in, but at best we were usually together. I began 
to enter the race for her heart with a greater zeal 
than I had anticipated. There were quiet little drives 
or walks. I often surprised her with a bunch of 
flowers and felt a man’s pride in her gracious accept- 
ance. I was not a boy now, but a man of fifty, ma- 
ture in thought and, through my early struggles. 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


25 


made strong to accomplish whatever my heart de- 
sired. 

• And so the weeks passed quickly into the months, 
and with each succeeding month my desire to win the 
love of my wife grew stronger. It had now reached 
the time when I loved with an intensity of which I 
little dreamed I was capable of feeling. 

Our little daughter had been in the habit of having 
her meals with her governess in the nursery, but grad- 
ually Priscilla permitted her to come into the dining 
room for her morning and evening visit with Papa. 
In time we grew to be great friends and the moment 
my step sounded in the hall, a child’s ringing voice 
called out, ‘‘Papa’s come,” and a little figure darted 
down the staircase and sprang into my arms. 

I found myself watching for this darting figure, 
and once Priscilla chided me for buying so much 
candy for the child. She said it was not good for 
her, and a lot of other things which mothers know 
how to say and which are doubtless all true. 

“But, Priscilla,” I said, “I love the child and I am 
trying to express that love in terms the child herself 
can understand.” 

That evening we had a long talk about the future 
of our daughter. Her traits, inherited and other- 
wise ; her tastes ; her education. I felt nearer to Pris- 
cilla then than at any other time. 

' I remember it was that night, as we parted, that I 
raised her hand to my lips and said, “Our child has 


26 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


a perfect mother and I can safely trust to her guid- 
ance.” 

Priscilla grew rosy, whether just from surprise or 
something deeper I was not sure. 

She quietly said, however, ‘T am glad if I please 
you in this, Phillip.” 

And I just as quietly, though not so evenly, re- 
plied: ‘^You please me in more ways than you know. 
Some day I shall tell you something and ask you a 
question,” and my eyes revealed more than my words. 

From that night I paid court to her even more 
openly, trying in all ways in which a man may to 
express my love, growing each day stronger and 
deeper. 

One night in the early summer we gave a large 
party. Priscilla was always a charming hostess, 
but it seemed to me that never before had she ap- 
peared so winsome and so gracious. A jealous pang 
shot through my heart every time I saw her sur- 
rounded by a group of men, yet great pride also, for 
she was admired by her own sex as well as mine. 

My duties as host kept me busy, but every time I 
glanced across the room I saw the merry, beautiful 
face and the laughing brown eyes and knew that she 
was happy. 

So winsome was she that I longed to take her into 
my arms, then and there, and demand love for love. 

It was late when our last guest departed, and 
Priscilla turned again into the large parlors to see 
that all things were ready for the night. As she 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


27 


busied herself about the rooms, I watched her until 
my heart ached with longing and I knew that the 
time to speak had come. 

^^Priscilla,” I said, “will you come into my work 
room when you finish.^” 

“Yes, Phillip,” she answered, but as her face was 
turned away, I could not tell whether she detected 
my meaning or no. 

I had a small room at the back of the house fitted 
up as my work shop, a den it would now be called. 
On this night of our party it had been used for our 
guests, and presented a most cheery appearance with 
the grate fire burning merrily and the low lights. 

Presently she stood in the doorway, the one woman 
in all the world. 

“Will you enter, Priscilla?” and I drew an easy- 
chair near where I was standing. 

She came slowly into the room, a rosy flush on her 
cheeks and her dress trailing its soft pink folds over 
the carpet. She remained standing and her eyes 
were turned away from me. 

“Do you remember, Priscilla,” I began, in a voice 
full of emotion, “the conversation we had many 
months ago, when I started out to find the right path 
for us to travel?” 

A simple “Yes” was her only answer, and I con- 
tinued : 

“I have found the path, Priscilla. I have grown 
to love you with a man’s intense passion; and to- 
night, as I watched you among our guests, I felt that 


28 


FINDING THE RIGHT PATH 


I could live no longer without your love. I want 
your entire heart, dear, all your love. Oh, Priscilla, 
my darling, will you give yourself to me.?^” and the 
whole strength of my soul went out in that cry. 

Slowly she raised her eyes, her beautiful brown 
eyes, and into their depths came something I had 
never seen there before, and her face grew radiant, 
as she said in low tones, ‘‘Phillip, you may — ^kiss — 
your — wife.” 


THE HAND OF LOVE 



THE HAND OF LOVE 


you don’t believe in the old theory that every 
man must sow his wild oats?” and Walter Gordon 
settled himself in the big chair as he asked the ques- 
tion. 

“Most decidedly not!” came in emphatic tones 
from Elsie, who was busy looking over the contents of 
a late magazine from which she had been reading. 

The young man laughed. There was something so 
decidedly original in the positive statement of his 
bride-to-be. She was so unspoiled by all the atten- 
tion shown her, so genuine in her wholesome glee. It 
was like a shower on a hot day to spend an evening 
with her. One felt refreshed, strengthened and puri- 
fied. 

“Don’t you believe that all men have something of 
the devil in their make-up?” he laughingly continued, 
determined to tease the girl a little. 

“No, there are plenty of men who are just plain 
goodness, without any deviltry about them,” she an- 
swered soberly. “But why are you interested in 
wickedness? You, who are so good,” she asked, after 
a moment, shyly looking up at him. 

“Oh, no special reason,” he lazily rejoined, study- 
31 


32 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


ing the face of the beautiful woman in the low chair 
opposite him. want your opinion on various sub- 
jects, so if, in the years to come, our topics of con- 
versation grow less, I can call up from memory these 
delightful evenings before marriage.” 

^^As though we would ever lack for conversation,” 
exclaimed the young woman, in a reproachful tone. 

A look of wonderful love passed over her face, leav- 
ing a rosy hue upon the fair cheeks and a sweeter 
smile upon the lips. 

Admiration glowed in the e^^es of the man. Still 
bent on gaining his point, he continued: ‘^Then I 
don’t suppose you would do what the world says Miss 
Amos is doing, marry a man to reform him.^” 

^^Of course not!” the girl answered, somewhat an- 
noyed by the turn the conversation was taking. She 
had always lived in an atmosphere of high ideals, and 
these constant references by her lover to the other 
side of life were positive pain. 

The young man laughed amusedly. This girl was 
so unused to other phases of life which he knew so 
well that he delighted to draw her out. He looked 
across at her now with smiling eyes. 

The magazine had been laid on the table and she 
sat in the low rocking-chair with a wistful light in her 
eyes as she responded to the look in his. 

Ah, how he loved her ! 

She was so beautiful, yet he knew that underneath 
that radiant loveliness was a character of more than 
usual strength. He felt that she would be able to 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


33 


meet all the conditions of life and give to each one 
the force which it needed. He knew that he loved 
her. 

Still it was great sport to tease her. He had no 
wish to hurt her — but, as usual, he thought most of 
his own amusement. 

“Well, I suppose a good many girls marry men 
they think are good and then find out, too late, that 
they are wholly bad,” he mused. “Now what in the 
name of common sense would you do in that case?” 
and he looked across at Elsie with perplexed eyes 
and v/rinkled brow. 

Elsie slowly arose and paced the length of the 
room and back before she paused near him. She al- 
ways spoke the truth even in the ordinary give and 
take of light talk. Perhaps that was one of her chief 
charms for this man who spoke the truth only when 
a lie would not serve as well. 

“I don’t quite know,” she said in a low tone, 
vaguely searching for the subtle meaning she felt was 
in the question. 

Walter took the unresisting form in his arms. 
“You don’t know what you would do if you married 
a beast, thinking him to be a god?” he questioned; 
but this time there was more than idle curiosity in 
his tone. 

She hid her face on his shoulder and he held her 
close. When she looked into his eyes again, the wist- 
ful gaze was gone, and in its place her soul shone 
with a pure and holy light. 


34 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


‘T don’t understand such things,” she said slowly, 
‘^but it seems to me that if love means anything vital, 
it must be life to the end. If I loved, it would be 
through everything, good and bad. I do love you,” 
she said solemnly, turning a little in his arms that 
she might look directly into his eyes, ^Vith all my 
heart and soul. And I — mean to keep — my love for 
you — and your love — for me.” 

And the man, listening, felt a benediction of love 
resting upon him, almost prophetic, as it were, and 
he bent his head and reverently kissed her brow, 
whispering in an awed tone, ^^May you never regret 
your choice.” 

The wedding was over. Dr. Stone, turning the 
key in his own door, suggested that they sit by the 
library fire and get thoroughly warm before retiring. 

‘T don’t see what we were all thinking about,” said 
his wife, throwing aside her fur-lined wrap, ^Ho allow 
that lovely girl to marry such a man. Mary Brown 
told me to-night that she had tried to say some- 
thing to Elsie and the girl had sweetly, but most em- 
phatically told her to keep silence.” 

The doctor roared. ‘^Trust Elsie to be emphatic, 
if she is anything,” he said. “I never knew a young 
woman to have such positive opinions, and, blast me, 
if they are not usuall}’^ full of common sense.” 

^^But surely this is not common sense. If she only 
had a father or somebody to guide her,” groaned 
Mrs. Stone, ^‘but only that old aunt, who is stone 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


35 


deaf and with one foot in the grave. No one knew, 
till the invitations were issued, that they were any 
more than the merest bowing acquaintances. Why 
in the world didn’t you try and save her?” 

did try my hand at it,” said the physician 
quietly. “I told, or tried to tell, her just what man- 
ner of man Walter was, but before I could finish she 
stood before me with blazing eyes.” Here the Doctor 
mimicked so exactly Elsie’s voice and manner that 
his wife was obliged to laugh : ^Doctor Stone, if I 
did not love you, I would be tempted to hurt you. 
Kindly refrain from speaking any ill word against 
Mr. Gordon,’ and I was politely shown the door — so 
to speak. 

^‘Dear lad,” murmured the Doctor, as he gazed 
into the dying embers of the fire. 

^‘Dear lad!” echoed Mrs. Stone. know you 
have always had a soft spot in your heart for Wal- 
ter, but that don’t spell happiness for Elsie. Think 
of last week. It is a wonder she did not hear of it.” 

know,” said the Doctor sadly. ^^Perhaps life, 
in its fullness, might be termed a song. But it de- 
pends upon how we live it, whether it produces the 
strains of harmony or discord. Jean, come here,” 
and he placed his arm about his wife’s waist and 
drew her to him. “I feel that both of those young 
people are to be taken care of. Did you ever notice 
Elsie’s hands? Very small, very white and soft, but 
extremely capable. I have often noticed her use of 
them. Everybody else has tried with Walter and 


36 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


failed, and since his father’s death he has gone down- 
hill even more rapidly. Who knows, Jean, but God 
Himself has placed Walter in the only hands that 
can rescue.^ I cannot help but be sure that in some 
way, somehow, Walter will respond and turn out to 
be a man of whom we may all be proud. 

“No one can tell, Jean, what kind of a man I 
might have been without you,” and he gazed fondly at 
his wife. 

“Mercy! You were always good,” exclaimed his 
wife. 

“I had a good mother, and I had you, dear. But 
it may have been her love and yours which kept me,” 
said the man solemnly. 

“I pin my faith always to a good woman’s love,” 
he added, as he turned off the light. 

As the weeks flew by, Elsie was so happy in her 
new home that summer came before she was aware. 
During the hot months, she and her aunt went to a 
quiet seaside resort and Walter came out for the 
week-end. 

She was used to being separated from him by now, 
because his business took him away a good deal. As 
it was so hot in town, Walter advised her to stay as 
long as possible by the sea. 

Upon her return, late in the fall, her time was 
fully occupied and when, in the beginning of the new 
year, a little girl came, Elsie’s cup of happiness was 
not only full to the brim but running over. 

Between her care of the baby and her home, her 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


37 


drives and her social life, the time sped by all too 
quickly. 

Walter’s business took him away more frequently, 
as time went on; sometimes only overnight; then 
again for weeks at a time. If people talked, she did 
not hear them ; and if a word, now and then, did pen- 
etrate to her brain, it was soon forgotten in the rush 
of her active, happy life. Being true herself, she 
could not deem any one else untrue. Indeed, the 
thought of doubting either his truth or loyalty had 
never once occurred to her. Whatever the world 
deemed him, to her at least he was the perfect lover 
and the loyal husband. 

And thus the spring and the summer and the win- 
ter passed. And the spring and the summer and the 
winter. 

Elsi6 wanted to spend Easter at one of the South- 
ern seashore places. So Walter was to take her 
away for a couple of weeks, ‘^all alone by our two 
selves,” Elsie whispered. 

They would go on Thursday, Walter stated one 
night at dinner. Could she get her trunks packed by 
then, it being now Monday 

“Of course,” laughed Elsie in high glee, it being ' 
the first trip with her husband since their wedding 
journey. “I am not going for dress display, but the 
change and to again be alone with you,” and she 
looked fondly across the table at the man whom she 
had chosen “to love, honor, and obey.” 

Elsie had grown more beautiful with the passing 


38 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


years and the halo of motherhood had descended with 
peculiar grace upon her head. The radiant, happy 
nature was still the same but glorified, as it were, and 
people marveled that Walter could find any other so 
attractive. 

In the middle of the night Elsie heard a sobbing 
cry, and, hastily donning her bathrobe and slippers, 
went into the adjoining room. 

‘‘Did you have a bad dream, sweetheart she mur- 
mured, in a cooing voice to the child. “Mother is 
here and nothing shall harm you.” 

With the mother-heart so near her own, the little 
one fell asleep again. 

Elsie lingered to be sure that all was well, then re- 
entered her room. 

As she was about to get into her bed, a vague ter- 
ror gripped her soul, and she turned on a blaze of 
light. 

Walter’s bed, close to her own, had not been slept 
in. The sheet was turned down, just as the maid had 
left it and his night-robe and dressing gown were 
folded on the foot of the bed. The door into the 
hall was open. Terror seized her and she sank onto 
the bed with a moan. 

Words and phrases which she had heard came to 
h'^r memory. Confused sounds, whispers, and half- 
expressed thoughts rushed before her awakened 
senses. She staggered to her feet as though to flee. 
She put out her hand to steady herself and then be- 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


39 


came conscious of the hand itself. Such a very small 
hand, so white and soft. 

She sat down on the edge of the bed and gazed 
around. Then she looked again at the small hands 
in her lap. The horror of it all came to her, and 
she sprang up and looked across at the empty bed 
with its lace spread neatly folded on a chair near by. 
The blaze of light penetrated every corner of the 
room. Her eyes roamed about, taking in every de- 
tail, and years afterward she never saw gray slip- 
pers without seeing again her own little pair resting 
side by side near the open window. 

She was conscious only of these minor details, mer- 
cifully unconscious as yet of the pain in her own 
heart, struggling vaguely to the front. 

She looked again at her hands. There was some- 
thing fascinating about them. Then at the empty 
bed and back again to her hands. Suddenly, to her 
benumbed mind came the full significance of all the 
past nights of absence. She raised the little hand 
upon which was the seal of her wifehood and a bitter 
cry came from her bleeding heart. ‘‘Can I — keep — 
his — ^love 

The maid, passing through the hall the next morn- 
ing, noticed the light still burning brilliantly, and 
turned it off. While busy about her tasks, she heard 
the frightened cries of the child, and, hearing no 
other sound, ran quickly up the stairs. The bedroom 
door was open, a thing which happened only when 


40 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


Mrs. Gordon was alone, and the room was in a blaze 
of light. The screams of the child led her past the 
empty bed to the other side of the room. 

The mother lay on the floor, clad only in her thin 
nightdress and the bathrobe in a heap near her feet. 
The body was cold but the heart was still beating, 
though feebly. 

Then all was confusion. Windows were closed, 
heat turned on, physicians were summoned, and every 
servant in the house on duty. The maid lifted the 
limp form and placed it on the bed. The empty one 
was pushed into a corner. 

John brought ice and hot water and then the door 
was closed upon him. Kitty, the cook, as she worked 
over the cold form, said, ‘^Poor dear! She just 
found out his actions, and she is most killed.” 

Some one took the screaming child to a back room. 
But the mother of the little girl lay cold and unre- 
sponsive to all the efforts of her loyal maids. The 
life of the woman hung by a thread, and the man — 
husband and father — was utterly forgotten. No 
one knew where he was and no one cared. The child 
was too young and the only one who loved him was 
silent. 

Late Sunday afternoon, Walter, by the aid of his 
night key, let himself into his own house. The hall 
was dark and a strange stillness greeted him. He 
turned on the light and saw Dr. Stone’s portly figure 
descending the staircase. Too astonished to make 



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THE HAND OF LOVE 


41 


any move, the young man stared at the slowly de- 
scending physician. 

On reaching the last stair, the Doctor said in a 
low tone, ‘^She is conscious now. Come into the li- 
brary.” 

Slowly moving as in a trance, Walter followed the 
Doctor down the hall to a small room back of the 
library. Dr. Stone shut the door, pressed the but- 
ton, and the room was light. 

^‘Now, young man, what are you made of, any- 
way.?” the physician began, in an angry tone. 
“Don’t you know that that little woman upstairs is 
worth a million of these others.? Wake up, lad, wake 
up!” And the Doctor pushed the unresisting man 
into a chair. 

“Listen ! Now I shall talk to you as a physician. 
Afterward, I may say something else. You took a 
stroll Monday night after dinner. Some time during 
that night Elsie got up, probably to attend to the 
baby, for her slippers were on. Heaven alone knows 
what happened ; but it is quite likely that she saw the 
empty bed, and the whispers of the past came to her 
for the first time. It nearly killed her. She lay on 
the floor at least four hours before she was found. 
Four of us reached the house shortly before seven. 
Her body was cold and she was as one dead. We 
took the child from her — a boy — and two of us have 
been in constant attendance ever since. An hour ago 
she became conscious for the first time. She saw me 


42 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


and said, ‘Baby?’ I answered that it was a boy, 
born dead.” 

“ ‘I am glad,’ she whispered, ‘for he might be like 
his father.’ ” 

The Doctor paused, and the face of the man in the 
chair grew ashen. 

“Look here, Walter, my boy, I remember when 
your mother was dying,” continued the Doctor, in a 
more gentle tone. “She said to me, ‘If my baby is 
in trouble, will you please stand by him, for he shall 
never know a mother’s love?’ You are in trouble 
now, deep trouble, and there is only one woman in 
the world whom you have the moral right to love, and 
that woman lies in the room upstairs; and the four 
physicians who were with her during all the days and 
nights can testify that a power greater than theirs 
brought her through. You are the only one to help 
her now. You have failed her in the past; if you 
fail her now — may God forgive you. No one else 
ever will.” 

As Walter entered the sick room, the doctors and 
nurses stole softly out. Husband and wife were left 
alone. 

Elsie lay with eyes closed, very white and still, and 
with one small hand — the one with the plain circlet 
of gold — on the outside of the covers. 

As Walter grew accustomed to the dim light, he 
became aware of the awful whiteness of the face 
among the pillows. He sat down in the chair near 
the bed and gently touched the little hand. 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


43 


Elsie slowly opened her eyes and a wan smile 
lighted up her features. 

“Did they — tell you — about the — baby.^^” she 
asked in a weak voice. 

Walter nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

Elsie did not know how very ill she had been, did 
not know even the lapse of time. 

Still dazed by the words the Doctor had spoken, 
Walter took the little hand in his. How thin it had 
grown ! 

Elsie spoke in a low tone: “Walter, I got up last 
night — to see about baby, and when I came back — I 
was frightened. Your bed was empty, and I don’t 
seem to remember much. Afterward I was — glad 
that your son was dead. I might not be strong 
enough to guide him. My last conscious thought 
was that I loved you and wanted your love. I can’t 
share it with any one, dear ; it is not right to ask me 
to.” She was speaking with a great effort, but as 
though her very life depended upon the issue of this 
hour. “I have suffered and am very weak, but I 
love you, dear, and I need your love now and always. 
I am all yours. I don’t know just what happened, 
but I am suffering, and I cannot share your love with 
any one — never, Walter, after last night. I never 
knew before,” and her voice trailed away into a low 
sob. 

Walter abruptly left the chair and walked to the 
window. The shade was up, and he looked out into 
the street. The lights were lit at the corner and the 


44 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


men were hurrying home to dinner. But Walter saw 
nothing in the street below, for he was, for the first 
time in his life, face to face with his sin. Accus- 
tomed all his life to please himself in whatever he did, 
he was to-night, for the first time, conscious that a 
day of reckoning was at hand. His son dead ! And 
the mother glad because he might grow up to be like 
his father ! 

Deep down in his soul he knew that in no other 
way could his deed have dealt him a keener blow. 
He had been sorry when the little girl came because 
he longed for a son. Now a son had come — born 
dead because of his act ! And the mother glad ! 

Who can look into a man’s soul and know the 
agony of mind which must be his, when he learns for 
the first time that after the sowing comes the harvest 
— and such a harvest ! 

Walter knew right from wrong, he had never been 
blind to that issue; but the wrong happened to be 
pleasing to him, therefore he did wrong. Now it was 
different. 

At last a faint voice from the bed penetrated the 
dimness of the room. ‘^Walter, I am tired. Will 
you hold me in your arms ?” 

Quietly raising her head, he rested it tenderly on 
his breast and enfolded the slight form in his arms. 
Always considerate of her, for in his way he really 
loved her, he drew the coverings about her so that 
she should feel no draught, and a little sigh of happi- 
ness broke over her lips. 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


45 


Long they rested thus in the silence. Dinner had 
been served long since, and the house was in dark- 
ness, save for the dim light in the hall where the 
nurses were waiting to be summoned. 

And time passed. A little hand sometimes stole 
up and softly brushed his cheek, a small hand and 
very thin. 

She lay very still in his arms. She longed for 
some water for her fevered lips, but the courage to 
ask was not hers. The stillness frightened her. She 
knew it was now or never with Walter, and she would 
do what she, in her frail strength, could to help him 
in his struggle. How she loved him! This weak, 
sinful man whom she had chosen to be her husband, 
to “love, honor, and obey.” 

So she let her love express itself through the gen- 
tle, caressing touch of her hand. She touched his 
coat sleeve, then up to his chin. She tucked her little 
fingers into his collar and timidly touched the flesh 
of his throat. 

And so the hours passed. In the dimly lighted 
chamber, a sick and suffering woman, in her frail- 
ness, was putting forth all her love in the caressing 
fingers of one little hand — the hand with the plain 
circlet of gold upon the third finger; and a man, 
pleasure-loving and self-willed, was fighting a big 
battle. 

His son was dead — killed by his own deeds. But 
a hand, laden with love, stole up and caressed his 
cheek. 


46 


THE HAND OF LOVE 


Somewhere a clock struck the hour of four. 

In the silence and peace of the early morning hour, 
the battle waged; and a man and his life, as he had 
lived it, were face to face. 

At last Walter took the little hand and passion- 
ately kissed it, as he murmured, in a voice choked 
with emotion, “My wife and my one love, forgive 
me r 


THE END 


/ 


\ 






